


a ghost is a wish

by beachytablecloth



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Ember Island (Avatar), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Introspection, Post-Episode: s03e16 The Southern Raiders, it's the trauma your honor, not beta read unless my harsh inner critic counts, that's it that's the fic, this is lowkey really sad i'm sorry, well sorta, zuko and katara talk about their mommy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27233899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beachytablecloth/pseuds/beachytablecloth
Summary: The last time he’d been on Ember Island, Zuko had used his family portraits as kindling, and tried to convince himself that he didn’t care about them. The truth was that he had always cared about his family... He had always loved too hard, cared too much.Zuko and Katara reflect on their mothers, their memories, and their losses.
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	a ghost is a wish

**Author's Note:**

> _"Ghosts are guilt, ghosts are secrets, ghosts are regrets and failings. But most times, a ghost is a wish."_ \- The Haunting of Hill House

_Destiny is a funny thing_ , his uncle had said, and he must have been right because Zuko could have never imagined that he’d end up here: at his family’s old vacation home on Ember Island, with the Avatar and his friends in tow.

Strategically, it made sense—his family hadn’t come here for years, and it’d probably be one of the last places anyone would think to look for them. So he’d brought his friends here, despite the deluge of bittersweet memories he was sure it was going to stir up. He was done being selfish, he’d decided, so he’d shoved the heartbreak down. The fate of the world, he’d thought, was more important than his hesitance to face some painful memories. (And some that weren’t, in and of themselves, so painful, but hadn’t everything from his childhood been colored in pain, since his mother had left, since his father had scarred him and thrown him away?) 

And that’s how he found himself, at sixteen, sitting on a bed he’d slept in as a child, staring at a family portrait, desperately holding back tears. Sure, he’d burned the large one, but there were some smaller prints throughout the house, as well as other various portraits that he would pointedly avoid looking at whenever he’d pass by.

It all felt so long ago, like a different life, and he supposed it really was because he’d definitely been a different person then. A child. And though his childhood wasn’t ever near perfect, back then he’d at least had his mother to shield him from a lot of his father’s cruelty. And he’d had Uncle and his cousin, who’d play with him in the sand. And even Azula, before she’d completely turned on him, would help him catch the hermit crab-turtles who’d wandered too close to the ocean and bring them to safety.

This house was full of ghosts.

When the group had first arrived, there’d been tension. Aang was worried about Katara, Sokka was angry with her, and Zuko, though relieved to be forgiven by Katara, still felt strange about bringing the group here.

He’d led them into the house, showing them rooms they could each use, and not saying anything about the smashed portraits and family artifacts that were littered throughout the house.

And now, he was transfixed on his mother’s portrait. He had been so sure that she was dead at the hands of his father, a sinking realization that had destroyed whatever remained of his childhood. He’d been too scared to even hope that she could be okay that he’d never let himself consider it.

But now he knew—there was a chance. A small shred of hope that he could see his mother again. If his father had been telling the truth that is… though Father had never been much of a liar, that was more Azula’s game…

A soft knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts, and the door cracked open.

“Zuko? Did you want any dinner—Are you okay?” Katara was looking at him, her brow furrowed in concern.

His back was to the door already, and he tried as discreetly as possible to wipe the tears that had stubbornly, without his permission, begun to pool in his eyes.

_“Zuko? Why are you crying?”_

_“I’m not!” he huffed. “I don’t cry!”_

_His mother sat and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close._

_“Zuko,” she said, pressing a soft kiss into his hair. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Even grown ups cry, sometimes. I do.”_

_“You do?” he said, head snapping up to look at her._

_“Mmhmm.” Her eyes were sad, and for a moment she seemed far away. “Come, let’s go see if we can find some shells to bring home with us.”_

“Zuko?”

“I’m fine, Katara,” he snapped. But they both knew that was obviously a lie, and Katara was never one to back off. She came to sit beside him on the bed.

“Is that your family?”

“Yes.”

“That’s your mom?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“She was beautiful.”

He smiled. It ached. “She was an actress, actually, before I was born…” Zuko trailed off. He hadn’t really known much of his mother’s life before she’d married his father. He supposed he didn’t really know much about her now. And he didn’t know how to talk about her without feeling like his chest was going to burst apart.

(Something about this group had him sharing more of himself than he’d ever thought possible—he’d talked more about his mother in the past few weeks than he had since she’d disappeared. It was scary, letting them in, but it also felt freeing. It was a feeling he was mostly unfamiliar with. Like jumping off a cliff but knowing someone would always catch you.) 

“You know, we didn’t really have plays or theatre back home. We’d have celebrations sometimes where we’d dress up in ceremonial furs and dance and sing, and we’d always tell stories, but I’ve never really seen a real play.”

“We’d actually go to the theatre here, every summer. My mom would drag us because they always put on her favorite play—Love Amongst the Dragons—they butchered it, every time. But she loved it anyway.”

_“Mom!” Azula protested. “I don’t wanna see that dumb play again!”_

_Zuko groaned—he didn’t really want to see it either, and Azula’s anger had become considerably more dangerous now that she had begun firebending. He knew it was important to his mother… but it also usually made sense to side with Azula._

_“Yeah, Mom,” he said, “We don’t wanna see that dumb play!”_

_“Zuko!” He felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he turned to see his father striding over to them. “Why must you always be such a difficult child? Show your mother some respect.”_

_“Ozai, it’s—” His mother stuttered._

_“Take them to the play, Ursa,” he cut her off, his voice cold. “I have business here to attend to, anyway.”_

_His father had returned to his office, and they had gone to the play. Zuko didn’t get how he always seemed to be the one who got into trouble, but was happy, at least, to be spending the afternoon with his mother and not under the harsh gaze of his father._

“My mom used to sing. Not, like, in front of anyone, really… but to herself. When she was cooking or sewing, or to me and Sokka, if we couldn’t sleep, or if we’d gotten hurt…” Katara sniffed, and Zuko looked over to realize her eyes had glossed over with unshed tears.

He didn’t know what to say or how to comfort her. He knew nothing he could say would really help, and a flash of guilt ran through him as he knew that he’d been the one to cause a lot of these feelings to resurface. Though she’d been acting much warmer towards Zuko since their trip, it was obvious even to him that it had taken a toll on her.

She continued, voice tight and quiet. “I can’t really remember what her voice sounded like. The first time I realized that, I panicked. I can’t believe how much I’ve forgotten about her.”

Something in Zuko’s chest tightened. He knew this feeling well. After his mother had disappeared, they’d been forbidden to talk about her. It was, in some ways, like she’d never been there at all, except that everywhere Zuko turned he’d felt her absence; every time he’d closed his eyes, he’d seen her walking away.

He’d been terrified to forget her and had spent so much time cataloguing her features, trying to remember how she smelled or how it felt when her long hair draped over him as she hugged him. He’d stolen scrolls from the library and hid them in his room—had memorized her favorite plays in a desperate bid to feel close to her. He’d watched over the turtle-ducks, and had replayed her last words to him over and over.

_He fell into a fitful sleep after what Azula had told him. Azula always lied, but there was a small part of him that couldn’t help fearing that this time, she’d been telling the truth._

_He woke to the feeling of a soft kiss on his forehead, and saw his mother in front of him. She was frantic in a way he’d never seen her before._

_“Zuko, please, my love, listen to me.”_

_She pulled him to her chest._

_“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect you.”_

_She pushed him back to look him in the eyes._

_“Remember this, Zuko. No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are.”_

_And then she was gone, casting one last glance over her shoulder as Zuko, in a sleepy haze, fell back onto his pillows._

Zuko had relived that moment hundreds of times, ruminated on it, wishing he’d called out to her, or gotten up and followed her, or at least said _something_. But he could never change it. And that regret had festered over the years, had twined itself up with all the shame and the anger (and the heartbreak he hadn’t even let himself feel until he finally realized how evil a man could be, to be able to burn his child and make him think it was his own fault).

The last time he’d been on Ember Island, Zuko had used his family portraits as kindling, and tried to convince himself that he didn’t care about them. The truth was that he had always cared about his family; he had been devastatingly loyal to a man who had only wanted to get rid of him; he had been mourning his mother’s loss for years. He had always loved too hard, cared too much—a trait Ozai had hated and Ursa had nurtured.

“My mom died to protect me.” Katara whispered, her expression verging on distraught. She had been quiet so long, and Zuko had been so lost in thought, he almost forgot she was there. “How am I supposed to live with that?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said, because he didn’t.

Because he didn’t know if his mother was alive or not, but he knew that she had done the same for him. They were both seeing ghosts—Katara because she had confronted the man who had stolen her mother from her; Zuko because he was in a house that still echoed with laughter it hadn’t heard in years.

And Zuko thought, for a moment, about telling her all of this. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Whether that was for her sake or his, he wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry,” he settled on saying, because he was. He was so sorry, for all that he had done, for all his nation had done, for the fact that Katara had grown up without her mother, that her childhood had been ripped from her.

She sniffed, rubbing her eyes.

“Come on. Dinner’s cold by now.”

Zuko followed her out to the kitchen, ignoring the confused looks the others were shooting in their direction.

He would tell them all, one day.

He would look for her, if they survived this first.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I know it’s like a meme now to make fun of Katara for how much she talks about her mom but um I’m emotional over here like. These children got TRAUMA and wow. I’m Sad. Also I love Katara so much so don’t come for her. I will fight you. And tbh if MY mom was BRUTALLY murdered and I SAW HER DEAD BODY you bet your ass I’d be bringing that shit up 24/7. 
> 
> Anyway. I don’t even know what this is; I just had this idea that being at Ember Island would bring up a lot of shit for Zuko, and I don’t think the show really had time to take a look at how Katara would be feeling post- Southern Raiders. So I wrote this. It’s lowkey incoherent but we will just call that “introspection” and a “stylistic choice”. 
> 
> Pwease comment uwu or yell at me on [tumblr](https://beachytablecloth.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Oh and if you’re into this, check out my other [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845049/chapters/62790928) that is exploring Zuko’s journey to find his mom 
> 
> :)


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